


The Eloquence of Cursive

by Bofur1



Series: Child's Play [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Kid Fic, Love Poems, Mini War, Mystery, Possibly Requited Love, Protective Older Brothers, Secret Admirer, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:26:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Dís starts receiving love poems from a mystery admirer. As soon as they hear of it, overprotective brothers Thorin and Frerin rally up their faithful cousins to track down this "evil" poet and save Dís from his "dastardly plans"!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In order to understand mild references in the story, I would recommend reading _How Menfolk Do It _first. http://archiveofourown.org/works/986814/chapters/1945363__

A knock at the door brought Dís to attention. “I’ll get it, Ama!” she cried, racing to the door before Thorin or Frerin could. When she opened it, she found a surprise waiting for her.

“Someone left an envelope!” Dís called as she picked it up, studying it closely.

“Let me see,” Malyan ordered, snatching it away quickly before Dís could open it, just in case it was something official and unfit for younger eyes. After breaking the seal, Malyan withdrew the parchment and handed the envelope back to her daughter to dispose of. Instead, Dís watched her mother read.

“What is it, Ama?” Dís asked, curiosity aroused by her mother’s odd expression.

“A poem,” Malyan replied in puzzlement, “for you.”

Dís was taken aback. “What’s it say?”

Malyan’s eyebrows shot up and she quickly folded the letter. “Ah, nothing important.” Pivoting, she walked briskly away. Dís was left standing with the empty envelope and a mouth open to ask a question.

=

“Who—?” Thráin sputtered, dropping the parchment onto his dresser.

“It’s unsigned,” Malyan protested. “I have no idea who sent it.”

Thráin paced for a few moments before snatching the paper up again. “ _‘If you said you were cold, I would wrap my arms around you. If you said you were thirsty I would give you the ocean blue’_?! Who writes this to a sixty-three-year-old child?”

“Probably another child,” Malyan sighed, massaging the bridge of her delicate nose. “Whoever he is, he’s a daring one—dropped it right at our chamber door in the light of day...and he’s rather eloquent, too.”

Groaning, Thráin ran a hand through his hair. “Now that we know she has a secret admirer, what are we going to do?”

Malyan paused. “Well, we certainly aren’t going to tell her, or her brothers. We should probably try to keep this amongst adults. I can talk to Fundin and Deallyra, ask them to keep an ear open.”

“Two ears,” Thráin quickly put in. “I want to know who this is and what his motives are.”

Backing away from the door, Thorin nodded firmly. “Don’t bother, Adad,” he muttered under his breath. “Frer’ and I have a much wider network.”

=

“...We need to catch whoever this is and trounce ’em before they do something bad to Dís!” Thorin shouted, banging his fist on the table at which he sat. Frerin, Dís, and all four of their cousins startled at the sudden noise.

“Thorin, how do you know they’re going to do something bad to her?” Óin asked. “From what you’re telling us, it all sounds nice and sweet.”

“ _‘I’ll put my arms around you’_!” Thorin hollered, eyes blazing. “That means they’re going to kidnap her!”

Upon hearing this, Frerin immediately went white in the face and yanked Dís onto his knee as though the kidnapper were there in the room.

“But what if it means they’re going to hug her?” Dwalin complained. “That’s no big deal.”

Thorin turned on him. “Don’t you know how villains think, Dwalin?! They make everything sound like no big deal and then make the snatch when everyone trusts them!”

“Like Melkor in our history lesson?” Glóin gasped. “When he pretended to...um...”

“When he took a pretense of humility and virtue, secretly plotting harm against the Elves?” Balin rattled off immediately. Dwalin glared at him, but he was ignored.

“It’s exactly like that,” Thorin agreed bitterly. “All villains are the same.” He pointed a sharp finger at Dís, who flinched. “We need to protect Dís from this kidnapper!”

“What if it _is_ a nice person, like Dwalin said?” Dís asked hesitantly.

Thorin sputtered. “Well—they—they still can’t have you! You belong with us, your family, and nowhere else!”

Dís glanced helplessly at Dwalin, who sighed and shook his head.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Another envelope arrived the next afternoon, but Thorin managed to reach the door before their mother. Tearing it open with vehemence, he devoured the words on the page.

“Goodness, Thorin!” Malyan exclaimed, seeing his half-crazed expression. “Who’s that from?”

“Óin and Glóin,” Thorin lied easily. “They want all three of us to come over. May we?”

Cautiously Malyan nodded and Thorin stormed through the room toward his brother and sister.

“C’mon, we’re going to Óin and Glóin’s!” Shoving the letter in his pocket, he hauled his siblings to their feet and steered them out the door, ignoring their cries of protest. He picked up Balin and Dwalin on the way and together the little pack of children made their way to Óin and Glóin’s residence.

“Alright,” Neanélla, wife of Gróin, sighed as soon as she saw them. “I realize I can’t say ‘no’ to all of you, so you may come in. You’re here to see the boys?”

Thorin nodded briskly. “Official business,” he announced. Neanélla’s lips quirked slightly at the prince’s clipped tone, but she coaxed herself back into solemnity.

“Of course,” she agreed as she stepped aside.

When the children were locked away in Óin’s bedroom, Thorin pulled out the freshly rumpled poem and read in a fervent voice.

 _“‘You've showed me how to live, how to smile, what to say. You've showed me what it’s worth to love someone every day.’_ ”

Frerin startled. “Dís, he’s watching you!”

“And judging from that ‘what it’s worth’ part, he knows you’re valuable,” Óin added nervously.

“He’s getting more and more dangerous,” Glóin gulped.

“What if he isn’t a kid at all?” Dís yelped in alarm. “What if he’s an assassin?!”

Thorin placed a grave hand on his sister’s quivering shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep you safe.”

Dís only shuddered more violently, burying her face in Dwalin’s sleeve.

“What if he knows about our plan?” Balin asked. “What do we do then?”

Thorin stalked up and down the room, his eyes dark with brooding. “Then we’d better strike before he does.”

“Strike?” Dwalin repeated in shock. “We don’t even know who he is!”

“Then we need to find out!” Thorin shouted.

Óin held out a hand. “Can I see... _it_?” Thorin acquiesced and handed his cousin the poem. “Hmm...I know this handwriting,” Óin muttered in thought.

Thorin was instantly in his face. “You know it? From where?!” he demanded fiercely.

Óin’s eyes went wide. “I—I can’t quite place it, I just feel like I recognize it,” he stammered.

Snatching it from Óin’s hand, Thorin shoved it at Glóin. “Do you know it, Glóin?”

Glóin squinted at it, pursing his lips. “It looks familiar, but...”

“Balin, Dwalin, Frerin, Dís, look at it!” Thorin commanded, passing it to them. Both of the brothers studied it closely.

“Sorry, I don’t know it,” Balin apologized, shaking his head. Dwalin, Frerin, and Dís soon mirrored his actions.

Refusing to feel defeated, Thorin glared around the circle. “You need to find out whose handwriting this is,” he barked, sounding like Balin and Dwalin’s father Fundin. “Whoever he is, he’s able to read and write cursive, eloquent, knows each of us by name and knows where we live! Find him!”

=

Three more days passed. By this time, the poems were growing in length and Thorin was growing in frustration.

“I can’t pinpoint it,” he growled, doubling his fists as he paced. “I’ve interrogated Óin and Glóin over and over and they just can’t remember where the handwriting is from!”

Frerin, faithful second-in-command that he was, suggested somberly, “Maybe we should tell Ama and Adad what we know and show them the latest poem. They might be able to help us.”

Thorin stopped pacing and sighed heavily. “I was hoping not to do that.”

“But if it’s a kidnapper trying to get Dís,” Frerin cried, “we _can’t_ let that happen!”

Sighing again, Thorin nodded. “You’re right, Frerin. The risk is too great.”

That evening after dinner, Thorin and Frerin pulled Dís and their parents into the living room.

“Ama, Adad, I was spying on you a few days ago,” Thorin admitted. “I heard what you said about a poem that came for Dís .”

“No more came,” Malyan assured him, overlooking her eldest son’s slight of eavesdropping.

“That’s not true,” Frerin mumbled. Reaching into the largest pocket on his coat, he pulled out rumpled parchments and handed them forlornly to Thráin.

Thráin stared at the poems. “When did these come?!”

“You know how Óin, Glóin, Balin, and Dwalin keep inviting us over?” Dís clarified. “Well, they haven’t been. That’s just what Thorin’s been saying.”

“Our cousins are spies,” Thorin announced grimly.

“We’re trying to find out who the poet is before he kidnaps Dís!” Frerin burst out.

“Kidnaps her?!” both Thráin and Malyan gasped.

“Just look!” Thorin cried, pointing out different passages and justifying his assumption. As the explanation went on, Thráin and Malyan were dumbstruck.

“So...” Frerin finished in a small voice. “We need your help solving the mystery.” He pointed to the crispest, most illustrious paper of the sheaf. “That’s the newest one.”

Heaving a sigh, Thráin cleared his throat and began reading the poem.

 

_The first time we spoke_

_My ears heard a song_

_The first time we met_

_My eyes sang along_

_The first time we kissed_

_My lips muttered the words_

_The first walk in the woods_

_Brought the chorus of birds_ —

 

Malyan went rigid. “Enough. I know who it is.”

Thráin, Thorin, Frerin, and Dís all gaped at her in utter disbelief. The same question burst from them all: “ _Who?!_ ”

Rising to her feet, Malyan said slowly, “Who’s the only boy she’s ever kissed?”

=

“Can’t you write any faster?” Dwalin demanded restlessly, peering over Balin’s shoulder.

“You’re the one who told me to do it in cursive!” Balin reminded him.

At that moment the door boomed open. The boys froze as their father Fundin entered, along with the entire royal family.

“Lads,” Fundin said jadedly, “what have you done this time?”

“You’re traitors!” Thorin accused as soon as he saw his cousins. “I thought you were helping us!”

“Thorin.” With one word Thráin silenced his son. He bent down, meeting Balin and Dwalin’s eyes. “Why don’t you tell us what you’re doing?”

Balin swallowed hard, laying down his wet quill. “I—I’ve been writing poems to Dís,” he stammered.

Dís stared at him in disbelief. “ _You_ like _me_?” she gasped.

“No, no.” Balin shook his head hastily. “I’ve been writing them for you...from Dwalin.”

As soon as his name was out in the open, Dwalin turned crimson. Fundin chuckled in wonder.

“Well, I’ll be!” Despite the tenseness of the moment, he ruffled Dwalin’s hair. “You’re doing well for yourself, son.”

While the royal family got the whole story from Balin, Dwalin turned shamefaced eyes on the princess. It turned out that Dís was studying him thoughtfully. When she saw that he was looking back at her, a pleased little smile alighted on her face.

The heat in Dwalin’s cheeks cooled _just_ a little.

 


End file.
